Here I am with my two younger brothers on Halloween in the mid-1960s. I don’t know what happened to this photo. It’s the ghost of a memory. My legless brother, dressed as the devil, levitates with a grinning pumpkin. I’m a toothy witch with a zig-zagged cape and dotted apron. And HUGE feet! The house is melting, the candle behind me is teetering, my baby brother is running away. We might all disappear at any moment.

I started my afterschool sewing classes this week. That means I get to play around with wool, cotton, thread, pins, needles, scissors, and ideas with a bunch of elementary school kids who don’t bring any of my neurotically grown-up “Make It Perfect Or It’s No Good!” vibe to the party.

Teaching is. I spent part of last week teaching kids about sheep, wool, and wool-spinning at our county fair. It’s the nation’s oldest agricultural fair—almost 200 years old! There’s a rabbit barn, a chicken barn, a flower show, a giant pumpkin weigh-off, baking exhibits, a sheep barn, dozens of food stalls . . . There’s a midway, which I always avoid like the plague, preferring to walk through the cattle barn and look at the cow mamas with their sweet little calves. There is even a rodeo in the arena, an event about which stodgy New Englanders don’t seem to know what to think. Men wearing plaid shirts, chaps, and Stetsons, completely unironically?

Of all the things to see and do at the fair, though, my favorite is the exhibit of vegetables decorated by children.